


Four People Who Saw And One Who Didn't

by TheGeekySquirrel



Series: Smoke Rises [3]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Apologies, Conversations, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Gen, Immortal-ish People?, Magic, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Romantic Friendship, Someone on Tumblr Said So and I Agree, Toxic Friendships, Yancy Has Curly Hair, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeekySquirrel/pseuds/TheGeekySquirrel
Summary: Yancy was looking for breakfast. Abe didn't know what was coming. The actor called for a reason. Wilford was lost. Dark was curious.One by one, they all realized They were special.
Relationships: Abe | The Detective & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Abe | The Detective/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, Bim Trimmer & Yancy, Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Mark Fischbach & Y/N | The District Attorney, Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel/Y/N | The District Attorney, Yancy & District Attorney, Yancy & OC
Series: Smoke Rises [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046776
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. All I Wanted Was a Pepsi

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so to make this clear up top, my DA is an OC, Gael Hughes, who goes by he/they pronouns (primarily the latter). This is the sequel to _Four People Who Understood And One Who Didn't_ which I posted back in February and the third in a series (where the second one is p cringe ngl). I suggest reading the first one for context (and bc I want more views on that lol) but you can treat this as standalone if you'd like! Enjoy!

Gael’s given up on Yancy. Probably. In his opinion, they should, and the fact that they haven’t talked to him once in the week since that hike means they most likely have. It’s fine. Yancy’s got his calls to his prison family every Friday, he visits every third Sunday, and the few egos he does interact with sorta-kinda regularly are alright, for the most part.

The doc’s the one he talks to most. Asshole has a habit of showing up outta nowhere, telling Yancy he’s dying, and then moving on to a totally normal conversation. Yancy nearly punched him the first time! Gael was there for that one; they just laughed and introduced the doc. He’s gotten used to the doc’s random appearances now, but he’s still kinda miffed about Iplier hounding on how much Yancy stays in. He’s even suggested getting a “therapist” for the jailbird like that’d do any good. It’s fine. Yancy spent enough time in solitary that he doesn’t really care about being cooped up all day, as long as he still gets all the necessities. Apparently, though, it’s all that time alone that’s making the doc suggest therapy. Iplier keeps saying that shit fucks up your mind, that the jailbird’s probably got PTSD or depression or suicidal tendencies or some other shit cause that’s what it does to you. The doc didn’t really say any of that. But Yancy knows that’s what he’s thinking when they talk about Yancy’s time behind bars. He appreciates the concern, at least. Hell, he’s seen enough of his own buddies get out of solitary with that kind of shit weighing ‘em down. Some acted on it, sometimes in ways that ain’t too happy. Yancy wasn’t always alone in his cell before Gael turned up.

He doesn’t want to think about that stuff. That kind of horseshit is for loons, and Yancy’s no fuckin’ loon. At the very least, his mind’s more together than some of the other egos. And Yancy’s honestly doing better about getting outside here than he ever did in prison. He just took a hike a week ago! 

Still, Iplier’s not that bad. Yancy got used to his bullshit pretty quickly. Bim Trimmer, on the other hand, is an absolute douchebag. There were three free rooms when Yancy got here- Gael called it a coincidence, the doc said it’s just how the house is, either way it doesn’t matter- and somehow he was the unlucky bastard who ended up between Bim and the blind guy. Blind guy mostly keeps to himself, only really gets out for food and to visit the doc. He seems pretty alright if you ignore the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes, which Yancy does cause he don’t ask questions he don’t want the answer to. Trimmer, however, is this big-shot game show asshole. He’s threatened to stab Yancy over a fuckin’ _ bathroom. _ He was clinically fuckin’ insane and that’s no exaggeration. The ex-convict never saw his show back when it aired, but a quick look-see on the laptop the computer guys across the hall had given him revealed why it was canceled. Now, Yancy didn’t mind murderers or any other really serious crime. But he had to gawk at assholes who killed and cooked their contestants live on national television and expected to get away with it. Honestly, Trimmer was damn lucky Gael was good at their job. Yancy knew guys who did far less gettin’ life. 

That wasn’t even the main thing about Trimmer that bugged him. Not only was he a murderer, a cannibal, and a creep, but he acted like he somehow was smarter than anyone else. He talked down to Yancy ‘cause the latter had gotten caught, which, mind you, was a purposeful choice. He’d wanted to get behind bars to break out a buddy of his, then ended up liking it so much they’d just stayed. Trimmer, upon overhearing this from a conversation Yancy was having with someone else, laughed at the idea of being that attached to someone. What Yancy would love to do about it is break the fucker’s nose, but Gael and Dark both warned him against hurting any other egos. They’d seemed pretty damn serious about that part of the deal. So Yancy just kept away from the asshole instead.

So that’s where the story picks up, if you asked him. He was trying to avoid Trimmer after his morning shower- which was only forty-five minutes today, thank you very much- and heading downstairs for a quick breakfast. He took the stairs two at a time while thinking about the scrambled eggs he’s gonna burn- turns out two-thirds of a lifetime spent behind bars makes you a shit cook. Then he noticed something weird, even for this nuthouse. Trimmer and the Doc were guarding the doorway to the kitchen. 

“H-” 

Trimmer grabs Yancy’s mouth to silence him immediately. The only thought in the criminal’s head was  _ what the fuck _ . He looks to the Doc for any answers, but all he finds is the other ego peaking into the kitchen. Iplier turns back around and nods, prompting Trimmer to let go of his mouth. Yancy’s about to ask them why they’re acting crazier than usual when the Doc motions for him to come look. 

Of course, he treads over lightly. He’d been a successful criminal once, of course he knows how to stay quiet. Yancy peaks around the corner and- oh. Well, they should’ve just told him to keep his yap shut, he’d hate to disturb this sugared scene. 

Gael’s sitting on the counter with a bowl of oatmeal in their hands. They’re grinning at the sleepy-looking, pink-haired man across from them as he pours creamer into his coffee. And the former of the two’s wearing Wilford’s shirt over a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Wilford himself has on nothing but a pair of boxers and his rainbow suspenders. A quiet conversation hung between them, just barely loud enough for Yancy and the other two to eavesdrop. He tucked himself against the wall next to Trimmer and opened his ears wide to catch this soap opera. 

“How’s the old dic doing anyway? I haven’t heard anything from him since he left the manor. He still stickin’ his nose in places?”

“Busy as hell! He  _ is  _ a great detective, he gets so much business from all over, and you know Abe, he loves the work. But he still makes time to chat at least once a week. We go out whenever he’s got a gap in his schedule. I should ask him if he’d like to talk to you next time he calls, I’m sure he’d love to. Oh, wait, you should come with me to see him next time he’s got some time. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the extra company. You  _ were _ his last partner.”

“Hold up a sec Wil, go out? Like on a date?” 

“Of course! He’s my boyfriend, after all. Been together since… I can’t remember, it must not matter. What matters is Abe’s wonderful and I love him so much. He doesn’t really remember what happened, so it doesn’t matter. That’s what he tells me, at least!”

Gael hummed, “I didn’t know he was gay. God, this new world is bizarre, it’s crazy how accepting the world is nowadays. Good for Abe, though, I’m glad you’re happy together. Is he the reason for the rainbow suspenders?”

“Why, yes he is! I think it was an anniversary gift, they’re quite fun, aren’t they?” Wilford’s suspenders snapped against his skin, prompting a surprised laugh from the lawyer. Their chuckle faded into a moment of silence. Then, in a lower voice, “You guys have an open relationship, right? I like you a lot, Wil, but I’m not about to be anyone’s side bitch.”

“Don’t worry, baby, Abe understands how irresistible I am.”

“Ah yes, because every MILF fantasizes about dating a pink-mustachioed talk show host,” Gael quipped back, in a much more amused tone. 

“They really do! See, you completely get me, just like Abe! I knew there was a reason I liked you so much at the party.” Suddenly, there was a pause, and all three egos listening in exchanged identical puzzled looks before peaking around the corner.

All three of them nearly blew their cover. Wilford was now also sitting on the counter and kissing Gael. He pulled away with a grin before stealing a spoonful of Gael’s oatmeal. The lawyer had this easy smile on their face. Yancy recognized it as the way Betsy Miller looked at him the night of the Snowflake Dance when they were slow dancing and he’d told her she looked beautiful. Gael laughed and shoved his chest, causing Wilford to turn his head and that’s when Yancy pulled back again. He glanced over at the doc, who was now quietly whispering to the weird king fellow. The latter of the two looked about as awestruck as Yancy felt. Eventually, he nodded and motioned a hand, somehow summoning a small group of squirrels. Yancy ignored it and continued listening in.

“Of course you like me, I’m just as irresistible.”

The interviewer chuckled, “And what’s that supposed to mean? Do I need to worry about someone stealing you away from me?”

“Just saying, only one of us fucked Damien back in the day.”

“Who’s Damien?”

Gael fell silent for a moment. They eventually gave off an aged sigh and Yancy could hear them hop off the counter, “I’ll explain when you’re older.”

So  _ that  _ was why they hadn’t really talked to them recently. Yancy bit his lip to hold back a laugh as everything made sense. After all, he would hate to disturb those two lovebirds. About three squirrels had gathered around his and Trimmer’s feet by this point and were staring up. Trimmer pulled on the criminal’s arm, quietly dragging him away. Together, they went back up to their hallway. Not a word was spoken between them. Which is honestly preferable to Yancy. 

This fucking dick just had to break it.

“I didn’t know you had curly hair.”

Yancy knew he’d forgotten something that morning. His hand flew to his head and, just as Trimmer’d said, instead of greased-back locks, he brushed against a bundle of stray curls. “Goddammit. Gotta go fix that.”

He started towards the bathroom but was stopped by that same hand grabbing onto his forearm. “No, no, I think it looks good on you. Egos typically have almost no distinction between us besides our own personal styles. This is just something else that makes you different.”

The criminal turned back to give Trimmer a sour look. He was startled out of it by the genuine smile on the other ego’s face. It was soft and a little shy, like it wasn’t often he talked like this. Yancy swore he saw a light flush on the other’s cheeks too, but it was probably just a trick of light, it was kinda dim in the hallway. In any case, Yancy felt like he’d somehow jumped into another reality. They stayed like that for just a moment, until Trimmer pulled back his hand to rub his neck. The ex-convict let out a “Thanks?” 

Trimmer seemed to take this as some kinda friendly thing (which it isn’t, Yancy just wasn’t raised in a damn barn. He’s a crook but he ain’t rude) and grabbed at the other’s arm again. This time, he dragged Yancy to his room. Not inside it, but he brought the criminal to his door and motioned for him to stay a step back. Yancy didn’t really know what to do. He looked over at his own room, which was just to the right. He looked back at a crinkling noise, only to have two small whatevers unceremoniously shoved into his hands and the door quickly shut in his face. 

“Fuckin- asshole!” Yancy yelled as he jumped back. He glared at the door, then looked down at the things he’d been given by the douche. He examined the two packages- one a juice pouch, the other some toaster pastries. Huh. Guess he wouldn’t have to burn eggs so early after all. He looked down both ends of the hallway before retreating to his room to eat.

Trimmer was still a self-important jerk, but Yancy has to admit. He ain’t the absolute worst guy in the house. 


	2. What Kind of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And today, the title reveals the author as a country music fan, Blake Shelton hits a certain part of my heart dammit!

It was half-past noon on a gloomy day like the sky itself was mourning the loss of this spring. Most were cooped up in their homes. But not the detective. He was like a crazed bull before the match, clueless as to the truth of the matter, but knowing that as soon as those doors opened, the world would be one color. Once upon a time, he’d hated that awful color more than anything. It stood out like a clown in a synagogue and the man who brought it into the detective’s life was Death’s crazy ex. But may the sun drop out of the sky if the dic wasn’t the same. Neither of them deserved anything more than to spend eternity in the eighth circle. Yet, somehow, in this crazy mess of reality, they found each other. They were good together. The pink bastard brought color into the detective’s life. He made this world, which often resembled a penguin in a blood-soaked bowtie, something worth fighting for because it’s where Wilford wanted to be. And when your partner can be anywhere and anytime he wants, it means you stick to their preferred reality, no matter how much red bleeds into the white.

“Abe!”

Here he came now. Wilford Motherlovin’ Warfstache walked towards the booth where the detective was sitting. The colors faded the closer he came, but something was weird. There was someone following Wilford. Their face was like an old photograph of an aunt he’d never met, all at once familiar and forgotten. He could recall that they were important to him at some point. A friend, a lover, maybe even one of his ill-fated partners, it didn’t matter, their name had disappeared like a gray tear in monotone rain. 

“Hey Abe, baby, look who finally agreed to come see you! You remember Gale. Of course, you do, they were at the party, remember?”

The other figure was interesting- Abe looked directly at their face and yet couldn’t figure out why they were special- but that wasn’t the part that brought the detective’s to a crashing halt. He stopped to look at his partner, eyes wide and jaw dropped, “Wait, hold up one second, you remember the party?”

“Well of course I do! It’s where I met you and Gale. How could I forget you two rapscallions flipping my world upside down? It really was one hell of a party, eh old sport?”

The term of endearment caught Abe once again. He knew his partner. In the… however long they’d been romantically entwined, Wilford had rarely ever called him ‘old sport’. Only when-

“I know what you’re thinking, Abe. I promise, I’ll explain everything, but first, I’m in the mood for hash browns and a latte.” They interrupted his thought before he could get lost in black and white. Abe looked at them and their yellow intrusion. He’d seen that color before, a long time ago. It was the same shade as the dandelions that grew on his childhood home’s lawn. He still remembered afternoons spent picking bunches with his little sisters for their mother and how she would weave them into crowns or bracelets for her children to wear. Then his father had caught her putting a crown on Abe’s head and yelled at her for turning their only son into a goddamn queer, and that was the end of that. This 'Gale' felt a lot like his mother, God rest her soul. They sat across from him and gave a smile. That’s when he placed their face. 

“The- the goddamn party, oh my god. You, uh, were _there._ Oh.”

Gale only nodded. Then the waitress came over and they turned away from the detective to give their order. He studied his cup of coffee while they spoke to her. There was a crack right at the top of the handle, invisible if you weren’t looking for it. Abe looked back over to his old partner. He was half surprised to find no cracks in their skin. There was a tiny scar on the palm of their right hand, but nothing visibly damaged about them besides that. At least, while they were still wearing the leather jacket, nothing seemed physically off. Between the jacket and the sleeveless turtleneck and distressed shorts and the twin buns piled on the top of their head, they seemed right at home in the modern age. Their fashion certainly was decades ahead of Wilford. He had yet to give up the classic bowtie, suspenders, and button-ups. It was a good look on him, god knows Abe loved it, but the thing that was so weird about it was they were declared dead after the weekend. They shouldn’t be walking around like this, wearing era-appropriate clothing, and ordering a drink that didn’t exist until twenty years after their death. The waitress left and they turned back to him, catching his stare. 

“I think you need to start giving me some answers,” he said quietly. They chuckled under their breath and crossed their arms on the table. Wilford put a hand on their back, “I’ll leave you two to it. Gael, see you tomorrow, and Abe, I’ll be at yours when you’re done here. Adios, babies!”

And with that, they were suddenly down a body. The air got heavier instantly. Gael seemed to feel it too; their expression fell into shock. “Oh, shit, I thought he’d stick around for this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Abe grumbled back as he sipped his coffee, “But Wilford does what Wilford wants. Anyway, I need you to start from the top. How are you alive?”

“Jesus, jumping right into it, huh, dic? I guess you deserve the truth more than anyone. To answer your question, I’m not really alive. My existence here is more of a temporary arrangement, tying up loose ends, y’know?”

Abe hummed into his cup, “Didn’t know God let humans take care of shit.”

“God? Oh no, he doesn’t have anything to do with this. I’m not even really human anymore. My mind’s still kinda stuck in the time where I was one, though, so I don’t blame you for the mistake. The truth is, there was more to the house than any of us thought. What all did Mark tell you about what was happening? Depending on what you know, that might make this easier.” They barely paused for breath as they spoke. Abe had to give them that piece of evidence towards their bizarre claim. He set down his mug and shrugged, “Not much. He just had me look into everyone who was supposed to be there, mostly focused on his staff and the colonel. He invited me to stay for the poker night as a trusted friend. Truth be told, I didn't know the guy as well as you probably did. I didn’t even know William was his twin until I was looking into the colonel.”

Gael let out a long sigh at that information. Just in time, the waitress arrived with their order. They smiled graciously at her, then turned back to Abe as soon as she was gone. 

“So the house is linked to another plane of existence. The rules of reality don’t fully work there like teleportation is possible and it’s hard to permanently kill someone. Remember all those wounds on Mark’s body? Turns out he was trying to kill himself for months before the party. The ability to break the rules of reality rubbed off on people the longer they stayed there, which explains how Wil was eventually able to break up with reality.” They stopped for a minute to take a long draw of their latte and let Abe process what they’d said. He could only stare in shock at them until they finally set down their mug, “I know this sounds crazy, believe me, it took me half a century to come to terms with it. But that’s what happened. Now, you got any other questions?”

He looked down at his own mug. The crack at the top of the handle widened when he picked it up. Not by much, it was only just barely visible. The detective looked up at the lawyer as he lifted the mug higher. They hadn’t taken off their jacket yet, but he could see the bottom of their ribs as they readjusted themselves; an angry round indent was accidentally revealed for just a moment. 

“You mentioned some loose ends.”

They’d been a second away from taking a bite of their food. It fell away from their mouth as they looked up at Abe with a grin. “Good question.” They took the bite and leaned back. “Very good question indeed. It’s mostly just people. My niece, Wilford, Mark, Damien, you. I want to apologize and maybe murder an asshole or two before I take a gander at what comes next.”

“Apologize? For what?”

They stared at the table as they knocked the air out of Abe’s lungs with a whisper, “I knew what was happening that weekend.”

“What the fuck.” It wasn’t a question, but it was answered with a sorrowful face. 

“I’m sorry, Abe, I really thought Mark told you what was going to happen. I thought you exonerated me right away because that was part of the script for the weekend. He said you were someone I could trust through it all, that you’d play your part and it’d all be okay. I should’ve told you what was happening, should’ve stopped playing my part when shit started going off script.”

Abe is not normally a vengeful person. Out of everyone he’s ever chased, Wilford has been the only one he’s gone after out of a personal vendetta, and even that one he’d dropped in just a few minutes. He’d chosen to stay away from the Ego household when he found out their overall mission was to kill Mark. He didn’t hold anything against the actor these days either, though he’d kept his distance. But right there, in a booth in a random diner, at the edge of the world, he shook with anger as he spat out, “You fucking knew I was going to die and you didn’t do _anything_?”

“I didn’t know you were going to die, but yes. I didn’t do anything to stop it before… Well, before you got shot. I’m sorry.” 

He was about to tell them sorry wouldn’t cut it, that he died and nothing could change that. But the look on their face stopped him. It was the same look he’d forgiven the last time he’d faced the truth of that weekend. Last time, he hadn’t understood. He’d needed years with someone who defied all the rules of reality the same way he did to be able to come to terms with his own death. Now, those years were behind him, pushing him forward. Abe knew what he had to say.

“Gael, I am so fucking pissed at you right now. I _died_ because of your inaction, and that is completely unforgivable. I can’t forgive you for what happened instantly, that’s not how this can work.” They shrank back at his words. Abe let a silence hang in the air so he could take a sip of coffee. He didn’t want to hurt people, yet surely uncomfortable position Gael had curled themselves into told Abe his next words were the right ones. “However, I’m not the type to hold grudges. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“You- I- what?” 

“Thank you for telling me the truth and apologizing. I won’t forgive you right away, you’re gonna have to earn that, but I am looking for a partner right now. You wanna take up the mantle again?”

Gael stared at him, mouth agape for a long moment, then looked away, shaking their head. “Jesus, Abe. I can’t believe you still wanna work with me after everything. Of course I’ll accept, fuck knows I can’t die twice, but Jesus. What kind of masochist bullshit are you into?”

Abe finished his coffee with a smile. “Ask Wilford.”

They barked out a laugh. In a small diner on the corner of Arnold Street and Fifth, a limited world expanded for the second time. Dazzling pink and dandelion yellow mixed into black and white beautifully.


	3. No One Here Can Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figured it was about time to expand on a certain friendship, through a [specific song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rX_75D0lC2o/).
> 
> Also, tw for discussion of death

I pushed back from my desk with a sigh as my cell phone jingled. _Bye Bye Blackbird_ as sung by a fella named Gene, a former friend’s favorite from decades ago. He’d taught me the words until I could confidently sing it forwards and backward, at any tempo. Once, on a chilly October night, he’d put on that record and offered his hand for a dance. I’d taken it with a grin and laughed until I couldn’t breathe with everyone else around as he flung me everywhere like a ragdoll. Nights of whiskey and good company warmed my heart then, but they can’t do a thing for a corpse. There are no emotions left in the familiar tune. 

It’s been a while since he called. If I was any more of a fool, I’d have thought he’d forgotten about me. I pondered whatever business he could have with me as I picked up the phone. My thumb hit a button before my mind could decide what to say. So I just listened. 

“Hi, how are you? I know I’ve been gone, and I’m sorry about that. Please, don’t hang up, I just want to talk. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I was good until just a second ago. Getting a lot of work done over here. But I know that’s not what you’re interested in talking about, Mark.”

“So I can’t just catch up with an old friend?” I let my silence speak for me. The world had stopped moving the moment I’d answered. It would pick up again the moment I let him hang with all the other hogs. He chuckled and threw me back millennia with a few words, “Remember when you had long hair? You used to spend ages curling it up and pinning it so it’d look like a bob, but you refused to go get it cut. I was just thinking about that and couldn’t remember why you kept it long. Remind me? Wasn’t it something about your mother?”

I heard my papa’s voice in his. With my eyes closed, I could just barely feel paper-thin hands stroking the back of my head, telling me how much I look like Mama. It’d been his way of saying goodbye, I suppose, since he died in his sleep that night. We all said it was unexpected, but we knew better. Papa’s time was always limited by his weak lungs and sickly body. The only unexpected part of his death is how long he held on. Mama mourned him all that year, and it didn’t help when Dominga died only a few months after Papa. I still remembered how Mama’s gorgeous dark hair looked, braided back in a way that used to make Papa look at her like she was the night sky. How it splayed across two graves and her unmoving, fearful face the very last time I ever saw it. I was born with the same dark locks circling downwards around my face. Mama had never wanted to cut hers, and when I finally did take mine off right before law school, she left me behind all over again. At the tender age of twenty-one, I’d cried bitter tears for every hair that hit the floor. I hadn’t cried over her memory in so long. It was unsurprising to find my century-old eyes dry. 

“Couldn’t I just like it long? If you’re only calling to criticize the way I kept my hair when we were kids, Mark-”

“Criticize? Do you think so little of me? On the contrary, I always loved it. It was such a shame when you cut it all off, but you did look handsome with the helmet head. I miss it, and you. I-” he sighed roughly, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I want you to come back. Please.”

There it was. I shook my head, looked at the end call button. It was glowing right before my eyes, teasing the easy option. But I hadn't been one to take the easy method in a long time. I pressed the phone back to my ear and opened my mouth. A note. A word he’d taught me how to say. Once, twice, then singing the blues all day. I could feel his astonishment through the phone as I sang back my ringtone for him. It had been nearly a hundred years from the last time this tune slipped through my vocal cords. Last time, he’d grinned at me and said I was flat.

Mark’s voice sounded a lot more broken as he commanded, “Stop.”

Defying him was better. I knew I was just as flat as ever now, but he didn’t comment on it. He could do nothing but listen to half the song. I stopped at the second utterance of the title. The man was audibly crying now. And yet, his next words raised an eyebrow, “Why’d you stop? Don’t you want to make me even more miserable?”

An emptiness echoed my laugh through my chest, “Of course I do. That’s why I stopped. It isn’t even true of my current situation. Only that first part has got it right. I’m leaving behind my blackbird for the sunshine and a sugar-sweet fella.”

“So now you’re being truthful? Funny, I didn’t think you’d ever admit it to your bluebird.” His tone told me he was trying to taunt. I rolled my eyes- if the entity couldn’t shake me, what chance did some fucking YouTuber have? “Bluebird isn’t alive anymore, jackass. There was only really the detective I could tell the truth to on this side of shit. I just did that yesterday. Besides, why would I still care about him when pinky’s right there?”

The same voice that I’d been familiar with so many years ago tried to send a ghost down my spine as it said, “Oh, Gael, you never change. Still too trusting of the situation for your own good, still lying to yourself every day. Do you really think he’s gone for good? What, did the entity swallow him and Celine up into that thing while my back was turned? Because last time I checked, they’re still alive. And as for the Colonel, well, he always seemed more charming than he really was.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I saw their souls out of their bodies myself, and I know it takes a hell of a lot of strength to rip a living human soul out." If I had been any more of a fool, I would have been proud of myself. His next words stopped my train of thought in a heartbeat, “Damien’s still alive, Gael. Celine too, I’ve seen them both. They take turns at the wheel. One sleeps while the other steers around, trying to destroy me over an honest mistake-”

“An honest mistake? Mark, two people died and at least two of the house’s entities escaped, that’s more than a fuckin' mistake.”

He snapped at my interruption, “I know, alright? I fucked up. I’m so sorry you got caught in the crosshairs. This was never part of the plan, I promise, you and Abe weren’t supposed to die. Damn the colonel. This never would’ve happened if he hadn’t lost his temper.”

“No, Mark.” I couldn't help the urge to jump up from my seat. It almost felt like it was 1925 and I was waiting for the bus with him next to a full bench. Granted, murder and betrayal were never favored topics back then, but time changes so much. I leaned against my desk with a sigh, hoping he could hear exhaustion settle through my form. I didn’t have enough time left for everything I wanted to do. But I did have enough time to remind my old friend of the truth like I always have. “This never would’ve happened if you’d listened to Celine. She wanted to move to California where all your work was and where she could get further involved with spiritualism. Told me so herself in nineteen thirty. But you didn’t want to sell your childhood home. She was right when she said there was something darker there. Fuck knows she wasn’t a saint, but she was just as smart as anyone else. You should have trusted her the same way your brother did. But that’s some shit we can’t change. All we can do now is move forward.” I sat back down and crossed my legs. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, for not being there for you.”

He chuckled low, “It’s okay. Like you said, we have to move forward. Life is for the living, yeah?”

“Speak for yourself, ass,” I joked back. I’ll never admit how good the memories his laugh spoke to were. Mark winded down into his new voice, ”I do miss you, Gael. I definitely missed how flat you sing. Would… would you maybe want to…. Well-”

I answered his question with a crooned lie. He didn’t say another word as I finished out the song, flat as ever. I would never reach the same level as ol' Gene, but that didn't matter in the moment. He was what mattered. The last note lingered in the air. He let it hang long enough for me to jump in, “Mark, you know I care about you, right? You were one of the best friends I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. But I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“What a way to treat such a good friend. I love you like the little sibling I never had, and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make it all up to you.”

“I’m telling you now, the best thing you can do to make it up to me is to stop calling. It’s one thing if there’s a project involving egos, but please, just let go. Our friendship isn’t good for either of us. It wasn’t in 1933 and it isn’t now. The only way to fully move on is to live our lives. You have everything you ever wanted now, why are you clinging onto the past? Isn’t that the whole point of this Unus Annus thing, to let go?”

Mark sighed and his frustration leaked into his voice, “No, that’s not the point of Unus Annus, the point is to celebrate the time we have for all it is. That is why I want you back in my life.”

“The clock has already run out for us. I love you, Mark.”

I didn’t say goodbye before hanging up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question, would y'all want to see more about Mark and Gael's relationship? I've got a fic that would show how their friendship worked before the party that I wrote when I was establishing Gael's character that I could clean up for y'all if you want. Let me know in the comments!


	4. So I Better Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Wilford chapter! Aka, I'm gay for Mr. Warfstache

_ “Hey, Abe? Riddle me this.” _

Wilford had waited for too long. He’d felt clouds go over his mind as soon as he’d left the two, and it was a fruitless task to try chasing away what obviously wasn’t there. His name was Wilford Warfstache, everyone loved him. If they didn’t, they’d come around. What else was there to know?

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “How do we center Wil?” _

Perhaps where the nearest club was. He was aching for something strong to dull the ache in his chest. Like he had forgotten a promise. Wilford rounded a corner and walked up to the bar. Music deafened the sweat-soaked air around him. He glanced at the menu for a second before deciding on a negroni, and repeating that thought to the bartender. The bartender gave him a strong look- if only it were a drink, she’d be cutting him off already- before turning around to make it. Wilford leaned against the bar with a grin. 

_ “I don’t think there is such a thing as centering him. He’s Wilford Motherlovin’ Warfstache, he can be wherever he wants, whenever, and nothing can keep him tied down. Trust me, I’ve tried everything-” _

The bartender was quick. She had his pink drink in his hand before he could lose track of things again. Wilford took a long sip, then turned around to survey the dance floor. People were gathered together in lumps, huge gaps of space between them. Friends once danced with friends and everyone else was an enemy. That would have to change. Wilford snapped and the music sped up. 

_ “-but he does what he wants.” _

_ “Then why is he so-” _

People looked around like baby birds as they danced faster. Groups began to drift apart, and old Warfstache’s grin grew. He stepped forward, beginning to drift between them, and dancing his heart out. Girls and guys alike turned to stare at him. If he played his cards right, he knew he could leave with some darling things hanging off both his arms. So Wilford danced and drank and winked at the stares he caught. 

_ “-sane around us? Dark too, to a lesser extent. He knows what he needs to do when we’re around. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but it doesn’t follow any rules of reality or unreality.” _

When bodies began to bump against his, there was a great clatter. Wilford turned to look and found a cell phone with a bright blue case. He called out to the people around him, asking who dropped it, and reached down to save it from careless feet. Turning it over, there was a picture of him right on the home screen, kissing the cheek of some smiling, pale fellow he was wrapped around. He knew the man’s name, it was right on the tip of his tongue. He was special to Wilford. 

_ “That’s your mistake thinking Wilford follows any rules. You know he lost his mind a long time ago, the rules just don’t make sense to him anymore. He doesn’t understand most things. But love? He knows that.” _

Abe. Wilford was supposed to be waiting in Abe’s apartment. And he was. He was sitting on the couch, a drink in hand, unlocking his phone. He took a sip of his drink and recoiled. Wilford would have to talk to his boyfriend about what kind of juice he kept, it had obviously gone sour. He set the pink drink down on the coffee table as he got up for a glass of water. That would clear the awful taste out of his mouth. He could make some coffee too while he was up, Abe loved coming home to the smell of a fresh pot.

_ “I don’t get what you mean.” _

_ “Wilford loves me. That’s not an assumption, he tells me it every single day. He chooses to hold onto his memories of me. Not always, mind you, he can’t control it entirely. He slips up and wanders off, but he still tries to hold on. Same with his show, Wilford loves doing it, that’s why he remembers to show up every week and put effort into it.” _

Wilford worked quickly to get the old machine working, since he didn’t know when his boyfriend would be back. He honestly didn’t even know where Abe was at all. Normally, that wasn’t odd, since the detective’s work took him all over and sometimes kept him away from his apartment for days, but Abe told him he was talking today off. He should be here. 

_ “So if Wilford loves you so much, why do you let him wander? I may be too old to understand, but I thought even nowadays cheating was frowned upon.” _

_ “Normally, yes. If I had a nickel for every case where jealous lovers are involved, I’d never have to work again. But if you haven’t noticed, Wilford isn’t exactly normal. Beside the fact that he sometimes doesn’t remember I exist, his heart is abnormally large. Dumping all that love onto one person just can’t be done. That’s why Celine left him before the party. Fuck knows I don’t want all of that either. I love him too, but I’m not the type for date nights. He is, though.” _

Wilford unlocked his phone, going to send a text to ask. It’d probably piss off Abe if Wilford lost his mind over a simple misunderstanding. He could just ask and if he didn’t get a response in fifteen minutes, he’d go find his boyfriend. Simple. 

The last text he’d sent gave Wilford pause. Apparently, they’d met up at Abe’s favorite dinner, and he’d brought a surprise for the detective. What that was, he could no longer remember. Maybe that’s what was holding Abe up. It was important for him to remember. 

_ “So you just let others do that? I don’t get it.” _

_ “I let people I trust do that. It’s not like I’m letting him take random strangers out for a romantic night on the town. He deserves someone who knows what’s going on and can take care of him, y’know? Someone like you.” _

Gael. That’s it. They’d been wanting to meet up with Abe again for a good minute, and Wilford had thought it’d be a fun surprise. They agreed to surprise him, but probably not because they thought it was fun. It didn’t matter, Abe had been surprised, and he’d seemed happy to see them. That was good. Abe deserved happiness wherever he could find it. And Gale seemed glad to be there too, which was also very good. Their smile usually never quite reached their eyes, which was such a shame. They really were beautiful when they really smiled. 

Wilford went back to the living room and waited. Abe would be home soon, and he would be in for a world of love as soon as he stepped through the door. 

_ “Someone like me? You really trust me to take care of him?” _

_ “Of course. I believe you wouldn’t hurt him, you’re too much like him.” _

_ “You’ve got one of those right. I promise, my intentions are never to hurt him, but I can’t promise he won’t be hurt by what happens next.” _

_ “What do you mean? What’s going to happen next?” _

_ “That’s another part of this story. Abe, do you still have your old badge?” _


	5. The Things That We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They
> 
> **aren't**
> 
> **HUMAN**

They’d never woken up after the sun. They loved nothing more than watching its slow awakening, so they always dragged themselves out of bed before the cock crowed. It gave them plenty of time to wash up and button up their shirt before the world joined them. Leaning against their solid desk, they would eat something simple and watch it rise. 

He wasn’t much of an early riser, though. Getting him up before eight was an impossible chore. If he was allowed to, he would probably sleep until eleven, then roll out and put on the nearest clothes before going about his day. He rarely ever got his way, though, since he had trouble sleeping alone. 

When they began sharing his bed, he discovered just how much trouble he could have. They pulled away from him at five-thirty, and he was awake at six. Just in time to see the sunrise. He loved nothing more than watching them stare out the window with an apple or toast in hand, even as he asked them to come back to bed. They would turn and ask him what was on their face since he was looking so hard, and he would kiss them before dragging them away to go eat a real breakfast. And they would laugh as they followed him to the ends of the earth. Those mornings were his favorite memories when the world was simpler.

Then it was all over. So suddenly and quietly, like the last grain of sand falling in an hourglass. He was she and it too, and memories of sleepy grins no longer made him feel much of anything. It had never mourned the loss. Mourning was to want for what it couldn’t have. It had never wanted the return of those days. It didn’t even want them. It left them in one spot, thinking they would just stay put and sleep. 

He forgot they were an early riser. He shouldn’t have forgotten. That was his mistake. They shouldn’t have come here after they woke up. That was their mistake that it was tired of paying for. They were doing something else, too. They hadn’t told anyone that they had plans, but he knew them better than any other living soul. He could always tell when they were obsessing over some work. It guessed they were gathered tokens. Between the cane they’d so proudly displayed and the familiar glasses it had seen Illinois with- no doubt lent out by them- that was the most logical conclusion it could draw.

It couldn’t guess why or how many they’d gathered. That was an issue. These tokens meant nothing in the grand scheme of things unless they were brought together, which should have been impossible for anyone but it because humans can’t tell what makes a token different from any other item. This fact, combined with the aura it has already felt from them and the tokens it knows they’ve gathered, paints a troubling picture. They are becoming a problem, but the part that makes her angry is she doesn’t know how big of a problem they already are.

It gets an idea when the detective pays them a visit.

The detective had only come to the house once before, to find out what it was doing, and reject a role in the plan on either side. So their open greeting of him and quickly ushering him into their office was suspect at best. It knew the normal means of finding out information couldn’t help in this situation, so it simply stood beyond the door and listened closely. He felt like a child for only a moment, before they asked for the items. The detective opened his bag and the two became very quiet. It waited patiently, the way neither he nor she could stand back then, because it was so used to waiting now. What was thirty seconds in an eternal plot? The conversation started back up, softer than ever. It could still hear.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Gael.”

“Because we can’t be free to move on until these bonds to that night are broken. They don’t all have to be destroyed, but until something is, nothing changes. ”

He didn’t understand what they were talking about. But, it did. For the first time in a very long time, he felt different from it and she. He still knew how she and it felt- confused and nothing respectively- but he wasn’t she and it. He was just him. The separation of minds only lasted a second. It still came away from the experience with a splitting headache. This was another way they were a problem if just their words can have such an effect. It couldn’t simply listen in anymore. He tapped his knuckles three times on the door. 

The conversation in the room stopped immediately. They called out for him to enter. He noticed the detective was already standing with his bag together. 

“Leaving so soon?” 

Even he was surprised at how much he sounded like himself. The detective refused eye contact, making some lame excuse about a case before promising them he’d call them soon and walking out. He gave it a wide berth, which was wise and perfectly fine to it. The detective wasn’t necessary. He could stay away if he wanted. It was more interested in the items they were moving to their drawer. They were fast enough that it could only get a short glance; the detective’s badge, a red robe, a pair of white gloves, and a white chef’s hat.

That was five. It discussed some current case against Bim that it wasn’t much concerned with briefly before leaving them. He knew they could see the excuse, but they didn’t seem much concerned with the excuse. They stared at him blankly, almost like a ghost as they spoke. He doubted they would even remember what was discussed. As he exited, Wilford went in with a smile. It greeted him and barely noticed the lack of response. He was scattered at the best of times, it didn’t pay attention to if he noticed it or not, as long as he remained loyal, which he had thus far. It wasn’t worried about Wilford’s friendship with them. It had bigger things on its mind.

A lifetime ago, they said they loved the mayor. He had been too happy to say it back, instead hoping they would read it in how hard he kissed them, or perhaps see it in how tightly he’d held them. They kissed back just as hard and smiled in his arms. That was something else he’d forgotten. How deeply they cared for him and how those feelings often dictated what they did. They were always willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. They’d turned down a lucrative offer at a law office in another city for him, and later agreed to get into politics just to work with him again. It was different, of course, and they had never held any loyalty to her either, but even after all these years, they were still his old friend. How touching that news would've been to him, that perhaps in another reality, they never would have left his side.

It needed to stop underestimating his role in all this. He may never truly return, but he is still very much key to finishing its task. He pondered the ache in his chest as it smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, please leave a kudos and a comment.
> 
> Have a great day and stay safe!


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